


Write When You Get There

by Phritzie



Series: Drinking Buddies [5]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Alcohol, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Former Relationships, Multi, Relomia Reluctantly Beats Sense Into Her Boss, Some Plot, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phritzie/pseuds/Phritzie
Summary: Better answers can be found when people bother to work together.





	Write When You Get There

**Author's Note:**

> Please be 18+ and tolerant of cliched plot devices!

 

Stardust stirred, carried into the most lightless reaches of space by a solar wind from across the galaxy. Green and blue dapples of bending spectra flashed quickly across the particulate elements, creating the illusion of enormous beings that drifted in the wide unknown. But just as quickly as these motes arrived, they began to return, path reversed. Color tracked backwards. Stardust receded. The process began again.

Hanging quietly in that uninviting continuum, something contracted and expanded with restless displeasure.

**_Unacceptable._**

 

* * *

 

Anonymity was a defense he had relied on for too long, he decided. Real, hard-won notoriety came with privileges. One among them was respect, a power he hadn’t tasted properly in years. Bluster needed a source. Factually, he was quite confident in his abilities, but there were few still alive who weren’t of his own kind to remember those days of grandeur.

And oh, the inscrutable anger was bad, as was her distaste for the truth. But what was he to say?  _You’re simply too good at evading death._ Very charming. The fact that she had made off with his journal seemed trivial in comparison. He hadn’t any pressing need for her to return it. And the revelations contained within, damning as they were, had little to do with breaking their recent truce.

_To be fair, she hit me first._

Descending into the deeper reaches of his stronghold, he touched a wight in passing and they stilled, swiveling on spindly legs to regard him neutrally before bowing. Just a little programming he’d given each of them, something to make him feel taller.

It wasn’t doing too much for him at the moment.

The tunnels desperately required repairs. Many hands made light work, but his force of undead were spread a little thin lately, as was he.

He tried to think about what to do.  _Relomia,_ he might drawl, attention primly focused elsewhere. She had been in the hot seat for a few days but all of that was forgiven. He still had need of her talents.  _How nice of you to show up. I have an important delivery for you to make._

Sliske narrowed his eyes and appeared on the opposite side of a nearing wall. A worrisome quake in the knee or perhaps even a troubled catch in his breath accompanied each use of his ability to traverse the shadow realm. He was weakening for some reason.

_Yes, a reason with wild hair and wilder tendencies._

He had debated contacting someone about it. Unfortunately, the few that might possess any notion of how to help him served to benefit the most from his weakness. Wahisietel would just berate him until they were both blue in the face. And barring extreme circumstances he didn't believe Khazard would ever expose himself as afflicted by anything, so it would be pointless to ask.

Sliske strode past the bulk of his library. On a shelf he nudged aside a heavy bottomed jar of vermillion feathers for a large copper bowl and scooped it up wearily. He placed the spell sieve before him on his desk and took a seat. Pondering, he looked over the work in progress there. Would she be more likely to throw away a letter, or a mask?

_Most definitely a mask._

He put quill to paper, shaping misgivings and thoughts into paragraphs. The first draft of the day went over his shoulder, crumpled, and the second shared its fate. Sliske had written prolifically in the empire, and it was not his first stab at writing about love, so why it was proving difficult for him now he wasn’t certain. Pursing his lips and scratching out another unnecessary stab at explaining his actions through an extended metaphor, he leaned back and tried to envision the reality of his mistakes.

False pretenses would only carry him so much farther. The truth: his desire to see her look at him again, perhaps even touch him. An obstacle: they still needed her to stop meddling in the god war, and he was obligated to ensure that.  _By any means necessary, yes, I know._

A timid rap at the door interrupted his thoughts and relief bloomed inside him.  _Finally._ He bent a shaking hand forward and the entrance to his offices creaked open in response.

Several wisps of ethereal hair curled shyly around the jam.

“Well? I’ve been missing you.”

She floated towards the center of the room and faced him, posture low, supplicating forgiveness. “I’m sorry for ruining your plan.”

His ward was teetering on an emotional event, twisting her semi corporeal hands this way and that. “Don’t bother yourself,” Sliske scolded. “As it turns out, you didn’t change much of anything.”  _In fact, you stopped me from doing quite a bit of damage._

He inhaled and rocked forward.  _Oh. That’s good._

The sorceress straightened in surprise. “But... I don’t understand. What is the next step, master?“

He shook his head at her and gestured to his desk invitingly. “My dear, I was so hoping you would ask. I’ve made an alteration to my plan.” Another quill appeared in his hand and he offered it to her. “Indulge me. In all your days as a human, did you ever happen to write a love letter?”

“No, my lord.” A nervous laugh slipped from her throat as she settled on the other side. “I was far too young for that.”

 _Perfect. Perhaps it will sound more genuine that way_. Fresh vellum whispered against old wood as he pushed a blank page in front of her. “I have a request.”

 

* * *

 

They convened a short distance away, at the Blue Moon. Excuses to revel were practically nonexistent in these times, if none would count the miracle that nothing had managed to end them yet. But the conference was less earned than warranted, and it only made sense to meet each other half way.

Nodding politely to Dr. Harlow, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore a scrap between locals outside, the apothecary and the wizard-turned-spell merchant claimed their usual table together. After being served, they drank in silence for several minutes.

Aubury broke it with an admission.

“I have no idea.”

Ingald let his head fall forward a tad as he sighed, scooting in to protect his words. “Baffling, isn’t it? I’ve never seen someone so obviously yet inexplicably ill.”

They raised their beers in a miserable toast. Too old for any of it, the both.

More sounds of struggle rang out from the street, an angry yelp of pain and several dull thuds.

Less scarred than the others and worn smooth by the passage of time, their table shook as Ingald thwacked it with the flat of his hand. “Perhaps it’s a bit of emotionality,” he suggested. Adventurers were renowned for developing maladies of the mind, and that was only a step or so removed from the spirit or the heart.

“That would be simpler,” Aubury agreed. He leveled a thoughtful look at the apothecary. “But you didn’t hasten to accuse her of inflicting that nasty scar herself.”

“Of course not,” he rebuffed angrily. The very thought was sickening.

“Do you regret letting her leave?”

He made an aggravated sound and dragged a hand through his teased blond coif. “I regret letting her in! I’d hardly gotten a good impression of her companion, blabbering nonsense about swamps and hauling her ruined body through my storefront when the guiltiness descended! What even does that to a person, do you imagine? I should have charged restitution for however much it will take in ale to forget the sight.”

The retired wizard snorted and shook a finger at him. “You ought to just formalize the papers for a charity.”

A loud crash outside and the splintering of wood signified a conclusion to the scuffle. Someone staggered through the doorway of the Blue Moon victoriously and slapped some coins down on the bar. No one hurried to serve them.

“It’s out of our hands,” Ingald said finally. “Always has something more important than a broken bone to get on with somehow anyway.” His companion was more than willing to drink to that, and drink they did.

 

* * *

 

It was a long walk to the palace from Varrock. Grudgingly, Felix hired a ride. She couldn’t fill her lungs properly enough to walk unassisted, sharp stabs of distress and a gnawing ache in her center limiting the range of her capabilities.

 _“Sure you’ll be alright?”_   _Her straw hair was damp from the rain, bandana soaked through as the heavens washed the dirty smell of everyday living into the sewers below._

_Felix accepted the letter Meg handed her and tucked it into her shirt. “I can survive a little road trip. Please let Mary know I’ll be by for a visit, and if you see Duncan… tell him I’m not dead.”_

The rain tapered off the further south they drove. She wouldn’t have even noticed were it not for the coachman’s relieved exclamation, darting a worried glance back at her distracted confirmation from the head of the cart.

Time passed, and soon a city rose proudly in the distance. Guarding its boundaries were high sandstone ramparts that glittered under the sun, and as they passed below the enormous arches of its gateway into the main thoroughfare she thought of why it was so hard for her to come here.

_Sneaking her out under the new moon, stumbling and laughing in the dark._

_Kisses shared in the shade._

_Hiding in her latest suitor's closet, trying to figure out how to please each other for the first time…_

If Draynor was their relationship’s peripeteia, then Al Kharid was its final refuge of dignity.

“Alright madam.” The coachman had a knee up beside her, ready to hand her down. “We’re here.”

“Thanks,” Felix muttered, and she disembarked with a wince. The discomfort inside had diminished greatly, lessened in severity from a debilitating pain to a slight pinch that caused her to hunch.

The Palace of the Emir was a vision of history, its stunning construction visible from anywhere in the city. Lavish fountains expelled potable waters and left twisting rainbows of soft vapor in the vacillating desert air. She took her sweet time ascending the stairs, and several guards quickly scanned and dismissed her as she approached the entrance. Felix was in a pretty rough state, but her good standing with Ali Mirza meant no one would go out of their way to trouble her.

It took her a while to find the right staircase because it had been so long. Drawing back the curtain concealing her favorite intelligencer’s private rooms, she raised an unsteady fist and knocked.

 

* * *

 

“Felix,” Leela coaxed, drawing her attention back from the window. Her eyes bunched at the corners in concern and she rose to draw the shade closed.

Woven grass hushed as the archer startled lightly. “Sorry, it’s very strong. I’m having difficulty focusing.”

She kept facing northeast. Compelled by forces unseen, her body would find a way to escape control. A twist of her head, an ankle shifting to point a toe, and then suddenly she was absorbed, eyes fixed on a point leading somewhere only she could see.

“I don’t know if I can even help you, but I insist that you tell me the rest,” Leela commanded.

Felix appeared to compose herself with a silent breath. "Well, we escaped, but I was wounded in our confrontation.” Taking her shirt in her hands she gathered it up, folding back fabric and undoing straps of leather to expose her abdomen all the way to the sternum. Coming to her side, Leela swallowed old, blossoming interest in favor of palpating the strange markings exposed there.

“What did this?” She mapped the indents of what looked like two pricks of a pitchfork. Sizeable discolorations ringed the center of her torso. “These bruises… they look incredibly painful. You may have internal damage.”

Felix rearranged her clothing to fall back into place, hissing as it brushed the injury. “I think it’s a little worse than that.”

 

* * *

 

As it happened, they made poor collaborators.

Discarded papers littered the floor. The contents of an inkpot were seeping into his outer robe. One or two quills had been forcefully thrown into the ceiling, sticking out like the plucking of a child’s down pillow, and Relomia could scarcely accept her own audacity as she berated him.

“You’re hopeless!” she cried, flapping a page blackened with numerous corrections in frustration. “For the last time, it’s not attractive to threaten someone!”

Sliske paced the length of his office, batting objects aside without regard. A bust he’d been holding on to for a few centuries rocked precariously on its stand and she rushed to steady it with the end of her staff, offended by his surly behavior. “Do you even know what you want to say?”

He whirled, shoulders bent in distress, and pointed an accusatory claw. “I do, you just won’t let me!”

She looked at him in disbelief. “’Love is immaterial and destined to die _’_  is not a well-meaning thought or even a parsable message, my lord.”

They faced off from across the room. The mahjarrat leaned into a nearby collection of harlequin novels and shook his head with a terse motion, gloved fingers splayed over the shelves as if braced for combat.

Relomia continued miserably. “And, ‘I did try to kill you, but understand that you forced my hand’ _does not_ sound much better. There is nothing redeemable in that. At this point you’re just airing grievances.”

His eyes narrowed. “I appreciate your detailed deconstructions my dear.” Hoisting one particularly weighty volume, he tested its bulk before hurling it at her. She almost failed to avoid it, ducking with a gasp as it disturbed her fluctuating hair. “But _you_ are supposed to be on  _my side!_ ”

If she had feet she would stamp them. “ _I am!_ Please just listen. Either write it yourself or accept my advice. This is not a love letter. It’s a plea for help.”

He stilled, hand hovering where it had released the book before dropping. She watched as he slowly slid down the bookshelf, plated ribs striking each protrusion on the way.

Sliske seethed there for a moment, crouched in full angst, before biting out a defeated complaint. “She’s not going to forgive me.”

Smoking eyebrows bunched in confusion, Relomia drifted over to console her master. He halfheartedly attempted to bat her away as she sank to his level. “What’s the point in apologizing?”

Placing a hand over the place where the embroidered finery of cloth armor met his violet hood, she attempted to demonstrate a basic concept to him. Ignoring Sliske's warning glare, she pulled back on it, revealing his lowered head.

“The point is, you haven’t even tried,” Relomia murmured.

 

* * *

 

They performed a few tests. Walking was difficult but infinitely more so was the task of remembering where she was, something Felix communicated to Leela with hesitation. When the sun’s rays weakened in the sky and it grew cool enough to take to the vast roof of the palace, they did so.

“Alright." Felix measured the distance between them mentally. "Time me."

At a quick stride, it took longer for her to move toward the intelligencer if she was traveling southwest. Northeast was easiest, and the medians of northwest and southeast were comparative, although northwest was slightly faster.

It seemed despite her ability to travel away from the bastard and the relief it brought, there was still a limit to the distance, and she was nearing it.

Working that way until the sun fell low on the horizon, she finally collapsed in an exhausted heap. When Leela moved to assist, she waved her off flippantly, breathing hard on her back at the sky.

“It’s like I’m tethered,” Felix explained hoarsely, arms crossing as she attempted to soak up energy from the hot stonework. The gritty texture was grounding, a sensation to concentrate on that involved neither trying to pinpoint the deepening terror in her heart or the compulsion to create slack by returning to Morytania.

Below the sounds of hawking and foot traffic lessened. Slow winds coming in from the desert were beginning to blow sand into her face and she moved onto her side.

Leela agreed. “You are provably being pulled in one direction.” She folded her legs to settle behind her, sandals shushing as they scraped the roof. Rings and bracers flashed in the sunset when she lifted her arms, deftly separating sections of curls and caressing the wiry strands into a more orderly shape. “Let's take a break. Are you certain that you don’t… hear anything? In your mind?”

 _Wouldn’t that be easier?_ “No, there isn’t… we’re not connected.” If she could just berate him psychically maybe Felix could get an answer or two. Unceasing questions dominated her thoughts when that cursed feeling wasn’t. She wanted to scream them all.

_Exposing our trysting to me. Coercing my agreement with people I care for. An unknowable master._

_He knew I would have to kill him eventually._

_I knew he would try to kill me_ again,  _eventually._

More than anything, she felt foolish.

“I doubt he is unaware of your condition,” Leela murmured, sweeping her own hair over her shoulder and leaning in protectively. They watched the world grow dark, curled together on the rooftop as shadows overtook the palace.

“We’ll fortify your spirit,” she promised. Stars appeared one by one. “We’ll study this cruel act until we understand. And when you face him again, you’ll be ready.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you ever think about it,” he asked, relying heavily on the support of the gutter to keep himself from falling directly into Ingald. They were situated quite intimately between two partially defunct buildings, very drunk and doing their best to get back to his.

Shivering, they hobbled arm over arm out of the alley and Aubury nearly lost his footing on a bit of abandoned pottery stuck in the mud.

“Dahlia would never let me forget,” the apothecary replied acerbically, adjusting his shirt tails. They tried to help one another, but the relative disorder of their clothing was too complicated to puzzle out in the moonlight. “She thinks there would be guests aplenty.”

They were navigating by touch more than sight. “I’ve heard people in the city are growing warmer to the idea.” A flash of red and yellow caught his attention in the gloom. His sign, there it was. Nearly there.

Before he could cross the street, a hand stayed him neatly, drawing them back into the heavier shadows. “Not warm enough,” Ingald muttered, and he drew the older man in for a kiss. Trading lightly fogging breaths in the dark, they hauled each other to the door, and finally made it into his magic shop.

 

* * *

 

_Felix,_

_Though the urge may be strong, I implore you not to discard this letter out of hand. Ah. I know. Put down the flint and tinder. You must be very angry that I tried to take your soul. Forgive me for cutting our armistice short. Your taste, so readily shared, was very sweet. And as you now know, I did crave it often._

Relomia drew back, scandalized. “That’s so… sappy.”

“It stays, then.”

_Rest assured that though the contest must continue, there will be no further attempts to rob you of what’s yours. When I told you that ‘collecting’ you was an obsession I have put behind me, I meant it. Instead, I have an acknowledgment to make. My motivations were not entirely my own; I borrowed them by necessity. You have seen a regrettable amount behind the curtain. Now I shall do my best to explain what you viewed there._

_On the day I heard word of your birth I did mark it, fearing the consequences of not doing so,_

“Should you—”

“Quiet. We already agreed, no more modifications.”

_but when you appeared at the Ritual I failed to recognize it was you. Foolishly, I had never thought to seek you out personally. When I finally did, I’m sure you can agree, the results were by turns delicious and compromising._

_If you can accept my apology, I will be waiting at these coordinates_. He scanned each line, wetting his quill for a final thought. _Bring no one else. I will not offer this a second time._

The sorceress observed her master as he signed and dated the missive. Lighting the burner below with a rush of fire from her staff, they watched as the softening bar melted into a pool of liquid viscous enough to pour. Fat green droplets dripped onto the calfskin where the edges met in a neat line.

“Do you really think this will work?”

Sliske smiled tensely and handed her the spent bowl. She took it and commenced with cleaning out the remaining enchanted wax.

The seal was starting to harden into a thick disc, and he raised the letter gently to his mouth. Eyes slipping closed he held it there for several moments, a tiny thread of miasma eeking out to finish the binding. When he drew back to admire their efforts, the mahjarrat chuckled, a tired sound.

“I’ll be damned if it doesn’t. Now… Go make sure this gets to her.”

 

* * *

 

At some point during her third night at the palace, her sleep was disturbed by a fluttering at the window. Felix opened drowsy eyes. They met with the darkness of Leela’s quarters.

The arm around her waist tightened when she tried to move. Sighing, Felix gently turned and employed the only tactic available to her. Kissing Leela's bared shoulder where it met her neck, the only part not covered by cascading silk, she felt a pang of guilt as the junior spymaster murmured in fooled contentment and relaxed. It allowed her the briefest moment to slip away.

Felix crept across the plush rugs and avoided clipping her toes on the leg of a low table. Reaching for the windowpane and leveraging the bottom, she withdrew the latch and crisp night air rushed over her.

_Oh… weird._

A letter floated in. One of its corners caught against the reeds of the shade and spun to the floor with a quiet smack. Staring, she leaned down to retrieve it and jerked away as its unopened face came into focus.

Cream white, the supple parchment was sealed with a dark green circle… deftly stamped by a pair of lips.

Of half a mind to set fire to it but loathe to wake Leela, she pushed two fingers into each temple.

_If this teleports me somewhere…_

The wax dislodged easily. Felix firmly suppressed the numbing tingle that accompanied breaking its bond with the paper. Reading carefully, once and then again, her face heated, and she crumpled it to her chest. Gooseflesh was prickling her all over and with some effort she willed it down.

_10 degrees, 15 minutes north_

_26 degrees, 20 minutes east_

Wishing for the umpteenth time that Ingald hadn’t told her not to drink for a few weeks, her hands worked quickly to change out of her borrowed nightshift and back into her leather armor. 

 _Just enough to be unable to care about all this_ , her mind supplied,  _to forget that grand-gesturing prick for five seconds…_

The abused letter was shoved into a tatty pocket as she crawled out the window. As much as it twisted her insides, something about it made her feel less drained, as if it were allowing the chain around her middle a few links of give.

Leela had suggested he'd succeeded in taking a portion of her soul on day two, when they found out that traveling further than the pass was impossible for her. Felix wasn’t about to discard her animosity toward his wrongdoings because of a  _note_ , but it was odd that what she could feel of his essence in it provided relief.

_What the hell did you do to me?_

There was no one about in the city but a few camels and the occasional cat. The only torches lit were in the palace stables, waning then in their intensity as dawn broke over the ramparts. She hoped her dingy appearance wouldn’t give anyone the wrong impression and made her way over to the partially covered structure.

The stablemaster seemed a little surprised to see her there, squinting at him in the growing light. “Can I help you, my lady?”

“Please,” Felix said, “I can’t really do you much better than an IOU right now, but I need a horse.”

 

* * *

 

Doubtlessly the seediest watering hole in Misthalin and situated on the border of a literal haunted wasteland, the Jolly Boar Inn could be mistaken for a legitimate business, but it was more of a bordello. In the front parlor a handful of waif-thin people clearly struggling to make ends meet were draped over chairs and patrons. She ignored their soliciting gazes.

The crowd on the barroom floor wasn’t leagues better. It was relatively early in the afternoon, and some of the local day drinkers stared at the limping adventurer that smelled of blood and animals as she bellied up to the bar.

“Hey,” she greeted. The bartender grabbed the varnished timber separating him from the counter, stretching his back out lazily.

“Yeah, what’ll it be?”

Felix regretted the question immediately. “You got any water?”

As it turned out, they did.  _Assholes._ Jeering laughs followed her as she moved further into the back of the inn, glass in hand. The pull was practically moving her on its own, manipulating her forward. She tamped down on it best as she could, parting a flap separating the bar from the kitchen with her own intentions firmly visualized.

The back of a bald head greeted her. He was muscled and broad, facing a crude-looking set of appliances caked in grease. Clearing her throat meaningfully, she inhaled some of the spices wafting through the air in the process.

The man put down a steel ladle he had been using to stir an enormous cauldron of stew. It looked to be going  _very_  overdone on the slimy burner. He turned around. The splattered shirt was a little distracting, but what Felix found tackiest about his latest disguise was the ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron wrapped around his hips, bold red cursive print on frilled white cotton that matched the jaunty ascot around his neck.

“I didn’t need another reason to hate this,” Felix said, raising her glass of water with pointer finger extended as she indicated his human appearance. “But you gave me one anyway. Where’s the real guy, Sliske?”

“Oh, him,” the borrowed voice drawled in a deep tone. “Did you know he hated this job? I only sent him off to find a better one. Nothing untoward whatsoever.”

 _So, you just altruistically accepted the task of keeping this dump in Shepard’s pie and botulism?_ The pain inside her lurched suddenly and Felix grimaced. “I’m here for my apology,” she bit out. Limping over to the stained prep table situated between them she grabbed its edge to steady herself. “Start talking.”

Sliske sighed and crossed his borrowed arms, the unfamiliar bulk there straining. “I acted in haste. Quite a bit of planning, wasted, I would have you know that. Unfortunately, I never stopped to consider how difficult it would be to convince myself to go through with it, let alone you.”

“Sounds like a lot of bullshit so far,” Felix muttered, and her spine buckled a little under the pressure as he stepped closer.

“Are you quite alright?” His eyes were strange in their regard, too blue and dull.

 _Oh, fuck off with that._ The contents of her glass made a satisfying splat when she threw it over him, drenching his nasty shirt and unbearable apron. “No,” she hissed, “not a single thing is alright with me. You should know, you fucking did this to me.”

As he recovered from her assault, the mahjarrat wasted little time abandoning the bodily form of the missing cook, peeling the shirt away from his skin with his claws irritably.

“Very well.” He made to advance further and with extreme effort she threw a hand up to halt him. “I’ve been missing some oomph lately,” Sliske drawled heatedly, flicking moisture off his chin. “My power. You must have absorbed some of it by accident, little anima sponge that you are. How have you been holding out? Terribly, I hope?”

“Don’t you get all fucking short with me for trying to stay alive,” she spat, slamming the bottom of her empty glass into the table.

They started as the bartender stormed in, whipping aside one of the flaps on the entryway.

“What the hell is going on here!”

The stares they set upon him must have been glacial because he rapidly paled, taking a large step back. “Ah—y-you know, take it outside.”

His hasty retreat sucked a lot of the energy from her, rage dwindling, but she tried to fix some of her remaining annoyance back on target.

She pantomimed the disturbing experience in curt gestures. “When I touched that thing—"

“A shadow focus,” Sliske interrupted petulantly.

“—Yeah, alright.” He leaned across the table as she continued, omitting the vision. “A power greeted me. It was dark. I suppose that was you. After you pulled me off it, whatever was left behind helped us escape, like I could just foresee what needed to be done.” Felix shifted from one foot to the other, regarding her trembling hands as she struggled to remain upright. “I couldn’t feel it anywhere when I came to.”

Watching her neutrally he nodded at her chest. “That’s because we’ve been apart, I imagine. Try now.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but what would be the point? Focusing on the roiling discomfort banding her core, Felix startled when his glowing eyes slammed shut.

While she probed at the foreign energy, his expression tightened in concentration. “Enough,” he whispered, shaking a hand dismissively. “Note this carefully.”

Her stomach pulled into her spine with enough force to crush the air from her lungs and she bit her lip, doubling over. It grew short of insufferable. Why she couldn’t stop him was beyond her, but while the pain was immense, it also alerted her to its greater nature.

Whatever he was doing precisely manipulated the ache inside of her. It felt very parasitic.

 _He has control over me,_ Felix thought miserably.

When she pried herself straight enough to look at him Sliske was smiling. She hated him then, standing there with his head tilted like it was some grand experiment. “You said you were going to take my soul,” she accused slowly, “when you attacked me with the Staff.”

“And I failed to secure even a scrap,” he rebuffed, opening his eyes and fixing her with a hot look, at once furious and amazed. “But you did steal a bit of mine.”

When he didn’t say more, she snorted. “No.” Felix didn’t even want to consider such a thing.

Sliske’s head bobbed as he swallowed, a radiant light entering his gaze. “Yes.”

The stew bubbled quietly in the background.

“Great job, you nut.” It came weakly at first, near mute in her shock, but her shouting soon rang out into the main hall of the inn. “Seriously, well done! Perfect way to ‘rid ourselves of each other,’ didn’t you say?” Her hysterical shaking only seemed to spur him on as he threw his arms wide and clapped his hands together in excitement.

“Not quite, my dear, but close enough,” Sliske hushed dandily, a claw at his grinning lips as he rounded the table. “A little messy in its execution, and you ended up doing the rest for me, but oh—“

They stilled as he closed in. His soul — the sliver of it jonesing to tear its way out of her — hummed at his nearness.

Felix knocked a tray of dirtied plates off a neighboring counter as she staggered backward. “Right, well, if you’d like to celebrate your success before this shit kills me trying to get back inside you, be my guest.”

“This  _is_ fortunate.” In her disruption he came near enough to touch, and his proximity initiated a bout of dizziness so powerful her legs folded. He caught her by the arms. Gently, reverently, he eased her back on two feet. “I’ve been searching for a reason to keep you around,” Sliske murmured.

Heart hammering, she warred between passing out and wanting to bite his nose off. “You selfish idiot.” He gathered her to his damp chest, exuding curls of shadow. To her immediate relief the building wail in her core petered off, as if being so close to reuniting with its larger half had calmed it. For that reason alone she allowed him to embrace her. “Why did you need one?”

He wasn’t paying any heed to her words. “The decision of how we handle this should probably be yours,” he mused.

“I vote you take it the hell back.” His rough laugh gusted through her hair.

“Typical. Boring. Personally, I think we should attempt to recreate the conditions of the transfer,” Sliske enthused, grinning down at her. “Perhaps you can handle more of it.” The backs of her thighs connected with the prep table and he stepped between them.

Felix went through a series of volatile emotions as she fought to contain her horror. “We  _are not_  doing that!” She finally managed to pry an arm lose, but when she thumped his back tersely he only huffed in delight. “No, stop it! We aren’t playing keep-away-closer with parts of your lifeforce,” she hissed.

Sliske appeared to consider her refusal for a moment before bending at the waist to lift her onto the messy surface. Heedless of her squirming he maneuvered himself further between her legs. “Of course, we could always just test the limits of philosophy. How much of me needs to be inside you before we’re technically one and the same?”

Whatever crazy argument he was ramping up for would drive her directly to mental crisis, and at that point Felix really couldn’t tell if he was joking. “I’m not fucking you in this disgusting kitchen,” she managed to choke, body shuddering with the effort of putting a scant few centimeters between them.

He looked appalled. “You think I would take you  _here_? Oh, Felix. How low your opinion of me has fallen.”

“Whose fault is that,” she gasped, head spinning as the world sucked her into a place that smelled far less like overspiced beef and potatoes and more of mothballs.

“Mine, I suppose,” Sliske admitted lightly. She gripped his loudly dyed ascot and took a dazed look around at the hallway they were standing in.

“We’re upstairs.”

“Very astute.” He practically hauled her into the nearest room. “But I did promise you answers and answers you shall have.” They passed a lot of ugly furnishing before arriving at his destination. The uneven lumps at her back were hardly comfortable enough to be worthy of the word bed, but she supposed with the likelihood that the inn was a prostitution front, it could have been worse.

Sliske stood at the foot of the mattress, loosening his ascot and flinging it along with the cook’s shirt and apron into a far corner of the room with a wet slap.

“I know you’re a single-minded ass,” she said tersely, struggling onto her elbows, “but could we maybe try to find a solution to the  _crippling condition_  this has put me in first?”

Felix couldn’t help the hot surge that went through her at his devious stare. “I think you fail to understand how this benefits me, darling.” He crawled onto the bed, shoulders curved, and rested on his ankles. “You’re desperately compelled to be near to me and while I can’t access my full power without you that tradeoff is looking very good.”

Laid out in such a way the situation exasperated her more. “Only at a certain distance, and what are you, thousands of years old, or a child? Shall we just spend all our time pressed together like limpets to a rock?”

More of his black sclera appeared as his eyes widened. “What a tantalizing proposal.”

“Not my point,” she snapped. Sliske lunged forward and pinned her arms down, claw points tearing into the sheet. “Fuck, you aren’t listening at all—“

He descended, and the first cool press of lips had her calves flexing against the mattress. When he retreated her neck strained to follow and his knowing laugh cut her deeply.

Easing each strap of her leather hauberk loose enough to slide off down her shoulders, he spoke gruffly. “I can’t let you stop me from antagonizing the gods, and you can’t let me use them to tear this sodding world apart.”

“Why?” He made rags of her tunic, withdrawing the crinkled paper she'd stashed within. “What’s so important about inciting those fuckers to kill each other?”

Felix cried out as he bit her with alarming enthusiasm, a sharp ache that issued from her shoulder, and tossed the letter aside. His claws quested down her body, urging it to move this way and that to resist each tickling skate. “Focus, damn you.”

Sliske raised his head from her neck reluctantly. “That I can’t share. All very hush. What I _can_ say is that holding the Stone hostage wasn’t my decision.”

Finally, a truth, and one Felix could confirm.

She struggled for any kind of leverage as he pressed her insistently into the bed. “I still don’t understand how you ever possibly imagined that turning me into a soulless husk would help.”

“I thought I could shape your power.” Sliske gripped the seams of her leg armor carefully. “Impervious to the gods. Loyal to me. You could become a weapon for the ages, but then we wouldn’t be here, would we?” They both jolted as he impatiently tore the leather of her jodhpurs in two, scratching her in the process.

 _Damn it, why._ Felix glanced down at the landscape of her destroyed armor through a cloud of lust. Her mind was awhirl with distasteful thoughts, most of them concerning questions that were growing less important by the second.

He matched her muddled look keenly. “Convince me this is as electrifying for you as it is for me,” Sliske begged, straddling her bared legs. Looking up at him hovering there she yearned for that dumb ascot to yank on and grabbed him by the throat instead, guiding him into a severe arch to kiss her. Groaning, he poured his attention into meeting each insistent push and drag, breath hitching oddly when her tongue ghosted over his pointed teeth.

“Felix,” he demanded urgently. Clawed fingertips tangled in her hair as his other hand liberated himself from the cook’s drawstring trousers. She continued to kiss him, clutching tight, and the mahjarrat made a broken sound as he unbent and bracketed her upturned face with sharp forearms. “Answer me.” Sliske covered her smaller frame completely, not a smidge of anything in sight but him. Yet he resisted her reaches for contact, the burning yellow of his eyes never straying from her brown ones.

“What do you _want_?” Felix whispered, and was surprised when it came out calm over the racing tempo of her heart.

His desperate laugh rushed over her and it  _hurt_ , bleeding through the shard of him in her. “Anything.”

“Unhelpful,” she muttered. Her hands released his neck and slid down his back, catching on each hard bump along the way. “I knew you were a monster under all those robes.” Sliske exhaled evenly and removed them from his sides, threading his fingers through hers.

“I needn’t be touched there if it offends your delicate tolerance for texture.” He growled as Felix’s mouth twisted into a smirk, suppressing laughter. “I’m thrown by your tactfulness, my dear. Don't rub it in.”

His deadpan irritation only served to encourage her. “Maybe I’m sick,” she chuckled, turning her face in the sheets to dry a few tears of mirth. “But that’s really cute.”

Sliske scoffed. “Oh?” As her amusement passed a wave of hot curiosity coursed through her and she nodded, eyes heavy. He gripped tightly enough that the bones in her palms rubbed together. “Do share.”

“I have expectations I’m hoping to hold on to for a little longer,” Felix bit out breathlessly, testing the strength of his hold and sighing when it proved inescapable. “Just a few nascent ideas.”

He purred, insult abandoned. “How wonderful. It’s very good to dream.” Pressing them closer together, he lowered his mouth to hers for another searing kiss, chest to chest. They drowsed in those soft exchanges for a few minutes before Sliske spoke again. “Would you like me to leave you to your fantasy?” He bit her lower lip, murmuring tenderly. “I would hate to ruin it.”

Her speech began as a laugh, but it ended in a groan. “I’ve got suspicions as to your true morphology.”

It was getting surprisingly hard not to sound desperate, each torturous kiss taking them further from care, somewhere new and fragile. Thighs fanning, Felix tried to hang on to reality as he whispered roughly. “ _Please_ elaborate.”

“I don’t mind a monster.” His hips rolled into hers and she met them squarely, spine curving. Recent revelations flashed through her mind, questions he probably wouldn't answer. “But it'd be nice if we had well-suited bodies.”

“Right,” he breathed. The heat trapped between their bare skin was starting to make her temples damp, and a red flush swept down her throat. Felix soaked in his sultry accusation without resentment. “Your little foray through my privacy. I had nearly forgotten. Don’t be deceived by words taken out of context, my sweet.”

She played up her reservations. “I don't know. You think we’re a good fit?” His faltering thrust was a compelling argument on its own, but he rushed to assure her anyway.

“I know it as fact,” Sliske struggled to say, nudging her legs further apart, “and if you’d allow me, I’m dying to demonstrate.”

Felix tugged on her trapped arms again, and he gathered them high overhead. "Show me then.” She didn't have to ask twice; he wriggled down the bed and lined up with her.

 _It is ridged,_ a voice provided.

If she ever thought back on it, Felix would detail how intimidated that bartender must have been, because most of the raucous mischief they got up to that afternoon proceeded undisturbed.

Sliske went out of his way to establish irrefutable evidence of their compatibility.

“Do we have a believer?” Her eager confirmation disappeared into his searching mouth, and she bore his fraught kisses as they moved apart and together. Writhing, her heels knocked steadily against something firm. His exerted laughter carried her to the other side when pleasure overtook sight.

“Louder,” he encouraged, and her breath stalled counterproductively as he pulled her into each insistent drive of his hips. “Please, you can’t possibly care what those simpletons think, give me more—“

He tensed when she complied, shuddering under him. His name escaped her in a shattered cry, and Sliske dragged his jeweled forehead over her shoulder as he worked her through it on trembling legs. His cursing was muffled by her neck, almost inaudible beneath the troubled bedframe. “ _Damn,_  I’m—“

Felix fought to watch him under the crushing pressure of her desire, squeezing hard around his fingers where they indented the flesh between her ribs. “Yes you are, come  _on—_ “

A dark pulse of shadows blacked out the room, cutting off the overcast light spilling from the window entirely. It enveloped them, and then he was snarling, curled around her as he shook jaggedly.

A long minute passed. Sliske relaxed and the pitchy murk receded in a harsh clap, blinding her briefly as light returned all at once. That fragment of his soul still clamored for freedom, but it seemed satisfied by the immediacy of their jumbled limbs. Felix panted out something that might have been pretty incriminating were he not just as thoroughly out of sorts.

Slowly they returned to cognizance, and she realized her name was being spoken. Sliske tried to get her attention. “—wrecked by a bit of sex, you know.” His dry tone puffed hotly in her ear.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I was busy enjoying myself. Where were you?”

“Right here,” he whispered, all saccharine. The feeling of his lips smiling against her cheek elicited a few butterflies, and when his hips shifted they both cursed at the immoral, delicious glide.

Heart still racing, her voice broke a little. “Careful.”

He fought for breath to speak. “Perhaps I’d best withdraw.”

It was a gods-awful mess. Neither were certain they could clean it up. If the proprietor had a better chance of being innocent Felix might have felt some sort of remorse for doing that to a part of his establishment. As it stood, from the livid shouts she could hear, they were shaping up to be tried for public indecency — _more like blowing the cover of their seedy operation —_  by a mob assembling in the hall.

Sliske caught her wrist as she rose from the ruined bed. “Wait,” he said, expression holding none of the usual, mischievous banality she had come to expect. "This wasn't just a one-off, yes?”

Felix tried not to turn red. Between the awkward sensation of what was working its way out of her and the muted hum of his soul, it was difficult to even formulate an answer. “What? No. I mean, that doesn't matter. We still have to fix this shit.” She gestured at her sternum. “You’re not getting away with this.”

He stretched, taking in the blue and purple chaos of the markings soberly. “Then I’ll be a gentleman for you.”

The world fell away to gray wisps of shadow as they slipped beyond the veil of reality. The unappealing decor became almost pleasant, absent of color.

He had yet to release her wrist and Felix swallowed, struck by the effortless way his hand enveloped it. Sliske pulled her back in, touching her chin carefully. “We’re quite nude, if you hadn’t noticed.” He winked. “This situation calls for a bit of sneaking. Not your forte, but I'll carry us through this one.”

“If you’re done insulting me, maybe we can salvage a rag or two to bandage the essentials.” Granted, there didn’t even seem to be enough intact clothing left for that. _Wasteful and perverted._

“Leave it,” Sliske muttered. She inhaled sharply as a light, tickling sensation came over her. Tangible filaments knit into a cloth from the shades swelling around them, forming a black robe. Barely heavy enough to feel on her skin, it offered impressively opaque coverage as it concealed him in the same material.

“Neat trick," she grumbled, tugging on her stolen appendage. "Now let go of me.” He did, and they watched from the shadow realm as a few men caved the door in, muted yells of confusion echoing through the building. They eased past them silently, exiting the Jolly Boar unseen.

He led the way. “I believe we can deal with this on our own, but perhaps that isn’t necessary,” Sliske hedged. His long strides ate up the distance before them, and her eyebrows pinched as she fought to keep up, insides twisting from the tether.

“I’m all ears,” Felix implored.

“Doubtless he’ll be unamused by my decision to crawl back to him.” The ravine containing the only route from Varrock to Paterdomus passed by as they quietly crossed over roads. They were approaching the woods that protected the dig site. Her eyes widened with comprehension. “And trip gauntlet over skirt to secure your safety as an asset.”

_Zaros? You think he can fix this?_

For some reason the thought was hilarious to her. “Well, maybe not,” she joked suddenly, falling beside him as they cleared a fence. She smirked, pausing to lift one leg after the other over the battered logs, robe billowing. “I’ve heard he’s a very  _stern judge_ of character.”

Sliske stilled, hand extended to help her down, and turned away stiffly. Felix hooted in delight. “Come on, that was good!” She caught up with him again and the mahjarrat couldn’t avoid her expectant gaze forever. Eyebrows lifted, she spoke. “Maybe you just need to work on your  _communication_.”

“You’d better  _guard_ your tongue,” he muttered with some hostility. “The Empty Lord doesn’t like puns either.”

“Uh huh. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

“I’ll take those clothes back.”

They bickered back and forth that way for a while.

It helped them forget the challenge ahead.


End file.
